


Sanctuary

by Shrinkydink



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Action & Romance, Angst and Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-18 23:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3588135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shrinkydink/pseuds/Shrinkydink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nestled in the hills surrounding Lake Waramaug in Warren, Connecticut there is an Inn named Sanctuary. Felicity Smoak is the proud operator who hopes to one day own the successful establishment. Working herself to the bone and loving every harried minute, she surrounds herself with friends and townspeople who love her like family - and that's a good thing since she no longer has any.  Oliver Queen is - well no one really knows. He woke up in a German hospital almost 3 years ago with no memory but thankfully a passport that at least told him his name. When he returned to the States, he got a job working for John Diggle's construction company, but John's had enough of his friend's erratic and often self-destructive behavior. At the very strong suggestion of John, Oliver heads to Warren, CT to spend some time at John's fishing cabin - which happens to be right next to the Inn of John's other friend, Felicity. There are many reasons John Diggle makes this recommendation, but he keeps those reasons from both of his friends. As the unlikely pair embark on a relationship that begins to heal both of their wounds, an invisible danger they never could have expected lurks nearby and threatens to destroy them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be patient, I write strictly for pleasure and stress release so updates will be erratic.

**Introduction**

Lake Waramaug is the epitome of bucolic, picturesque New England. Nestled in the hills of northern Connecticut, the petite lake’s irregular perimeter encompasses a mere seven miles in total. Despite its diminutive status, three towns boast ownership of its shores: Kent, Washington, and Warren. The combined population of proud title-holders might reach a whopping 10,000 people – and that includes the city dwellers who only call these tiny towns home on weekends or during the summer. 

Those who grow up in the area are likely to stay – or at the very least return after having spread their wings. Those who visit either find a place they can rent annually, or they wait patiently for a property to come on the market so they can snatch it up. Lake Waramaug isn’t flashy or exotic; it’s more like a warm hug, or a feeling of returning home. The serenity people find there settles in their bones, leaving an imprint that will forever call them back.

In the warmer months people take advantage of the lake to boat, Jet Ski, fish or swim, but one doesn’t have to be a water junkie to enjoy the area. There is a campground in the adjacent State Park, hiking and biking trails, a golf course, even a Wine Trail to end the day if a person is so inclined. When night descends, so do the smells of barbecues, campfires, and roasting marshmallows. After a full day of sun, fun, and food, the area’s inhabitants fall into a restful sleep with the sounds of crickets and water lapping against docks as their lullaby. At first light the next morning, they get up and do it all again.

In the fall leaf peepers make it a regular stop, or at the very least a must-see drive-through. The varying species of trees that pepper the mountainous countryside provide vibrantly hued backdrops that are the area’s inns’ bread and butter. The local economies do well during this time of year as people come for the leaves but end up staying for more. Some find joy in the local festivals, others the antiquing, pumpkin-picking, hayrides, and fresh-baked apple pies. The crisp air always carries a hint of those quintessential autumn aromas that no scented candle could ever truly replicate.

While the population declines during the winter, the lake still draws many snowbirds who love cold weather activities. Small planes occasionally take off from the lake’s frozen surface, only to return and land after a brief aerial tour, giving people a special thrill for a few dollars. During the ice fishing season, you’ll find locals sitting patiently next to their carefully drilled holes as pleasure skaters glide nearby. Others prefer high adventure sledding that isn’t for the faint of heart. 

When Christmas arrives, so do a lot of the summer folk, to spend the holiday at their country homes free from the noise and commercialism of the city. They don their L.L. Bean attire and head to Angevine’s tree farm to cut their very own Christmas trees. They even sip real hot chocolate, occasionally made atop their very own woodstoves. 

For the most part the area is still a well-kept secret to the select few who either grew up here or those who stumbled across it by accident; they don’t want to share their private oasis. 

While it still holds its untarnished beauty, the last fifteen to twenty years have brought many changes to the area; perhaps the most obvious one being the sticker price on real estate. The smallest lakefront cabin now sells for a minimum of a million dollars – and that would most likely be for the land. New buyers tend to tear down existing structures and put up multimillion dollar replacements with up-to-date amenities. 

Strangely enough, despite the upscale changes, the area has maintained its small town neighborly appeal. For the most part everyone still knows everyone else, and even newcomers are brought up to speed within a short period of time. It is a welcoming, borrow-sugar-from-your-neighbor kind of locality.

Like anywhere else, Lake Waramaug has some less desirable traits; its greatest attraction at times its worst detraction. Grocery stores, multiplex movie theaters, home improvement stores, and even hospitals are at least a twenty-minute drive away; in some cases even more. There are Mom and Pop stores that provide the basics, and the local doctors are more than capable. This isn’t where you come if you’re looking for convenience; it’s where you come to get away from that kind of lifestyle. 

If a person is looking for relaxation, tranquility, and a sense of community, Lake Waramaug is the perfect destination. It inspires a deep-seated appreciation in anyone who graces its shores. Once it’s in your veins, it’s part of you. 

And it’s the perfect place... to disappear.

_**Oliver** _

 

It was 2am. It was dark yet the moon lit my way as I shook my head and carefully climbed the crumbling stone stairs that led from the parking lot to the ridiculously perfect hillside home. The task was proving more daunting than I expected as the stone slabs had sunken unevenly over time into the landscape. What the hell had I gotten into?

I paused to look up at Sanctuary, studying the pseudo Colonial by the light of the moon. White clapboard siding with black shutters, an oversized front door painted red, an outdoor dining patio off to one side, and meticulous landscaping. It was everything Barb Parker and her husband Tom Parker Jr. from Anywhere, USA would look for in a New England getaway.

I, on the other hand, wanted to throw up in my mouth.

I had absolutely nothing against the country. I was looking forward to the solitude, the privacy. I just knew without a single doubt I’d find none of that living so close to this…place. The slogan on the Inn’s hand-crafted wood sign read, “Your Peaceful Haven Awaits.” Bullshit. Unless of course your idea of a peaceful haven included nothing but communal activities with six couples who want to be your new best friends. Maybe some honeymooners, some empty nesters – or if a person was really lucky – someone giving it their last shot before filing for divorce. If magically the stars aligned and my life was truly perfect, maybe there’d be a whiny toddler or brooding teenager thrown into the mix to ensure my haven sucked total ass.

Not that I was staying here - because I wasn’t. But I was staying a bit too close for comfort.

The owner of the construction company I’d spent the last two-plus years working for suggested (ordered) I come stay at a fishing cabin he owned in the middle of nowhere. He and I had actually become pretty tight - as tight as I could be with someone given I had no fucking clue who I was - so I wasn’t that offended when he told me to take some time at his place and “get my shit together.”

I was brimming with excitement – or maybe it was total disgust, hard to say – at the idea of doing nothing but sitting on my ass and watching a lake all day. The icing on the cake is that my home for the next however-long-it-takes-to-get-my-shit-together, is right next to an Inn. I was already overjoyed at the idea of mandatory neighborly waving and superficial conversation when you ran into the guests at the water – blah, blah, blah. I sincerely hoped John Diggle wasn’t jerking me around when he told me I was completely wrong about this place, but I highly doubted it. I imagined the owner, probably a Mary Sue Perky Pants, was dying to greet me in the morning with some sunshine and rainbows to stuff in my ass.

With a forced exhale, I resumed my reluctant climb. Some stupid travel guide would probably refer to these lawsuit-waiting-to-happen stairs as having “classic New England charm.” Whoever writes that shit should be fired, or at the very least bludgeoned with one of these “classic” steps until they took it back.

Reaching the front door, I easily located the message box where I’d been told my key would be left. No one manned the door at this hour, thank God. Lifting the lid, I removed the envelope with my name delicately scripted across it in near calligraphy-like perfection.

I opened it.

 

_Mr. Queen,_

_Hopefully your journey here wasn’t too arduous. Enclosed please find the key to John’s cabin. He said you’d prefer your privacy, so with that in mind, I’ll leave you be unless you request otherwise. I have taken the liberty of including a map and directions to the area merchants where you’ll find any groceries, toiletries, etc. you may need. While you aren’t staying with us here at the Inn, I consider any friend of John’s a friend of mine so if you change your mind and feel like taking advantage of the various benefits of the Lake or our Inn, there is a guide book in your cabin equipped with all the phone numbers you may need._

_Enjoy your stay,_  
_Little Miss Perky Pants (or you can just call me Felicity, John warned me about you)._

 

I actually chuckled. I must be tired.

It’s hard to say what I found more entertaining, the fact that the owner had a sense of humor, or the fact she and I probably had very different views of what ‘taking advantage of the various benefits’ in the area meant. First thing I’d be doing tomorrow would be locating the nearest bar and if all went well, a willing woman to sink into. I may not know who the fuck I am, but I know two things; I can build shit with my hands, and I can make women come. It was a simple life and I thought it had been working for me - John thought otherwise.

With a heavy dose of apathy, I mindlessly retraced my steps down the crumbling stairs and across the parking lot toward the driveway of my hellish haven for the next few months – a cabin in Warren, Connecticut. Getting here had been simple; hundreds of miles on my bike which culminated in a left turn at the End of the Earth followed by a quick right at Where the Fuck am I.

Whatever. It suited my purposes and I didn’t get to be picky.

My new place looked okay from the outside. The Inn was on top of the hill perched to look over the water, my cabin was to the left at the bottom of the hill - right on the lake’s edge. The two properties were intersected by the road that circled the lake. I took in just how close the cabin really was to the water - the expansive deck was actually suspended over it, it’s pilings disappeared into the dark water below. It had potential.

I might as well see what I got myself into.

Turning the key, I slowly pushed open the door, instinct I still didn’t understand the origin of kept me from walking directly in. When nothing seemed out of place, I took a few steps into the one-room cabin and flicked the light switch on. Scanning the place, it seemed simple, nothing too crazy – bed, coffee table and couch, TV, dresser, and completed by a small kitchen area. When I spotted the microwave and mini-fridge my shoulders slumped in relief, my usual beer and take-out would do just fine. There was also a door off the kitchen that must lead to a bathroom. Miracle of miracles, I’d have running water here.

Strangely enough, the room was…drab. I don’t know if I was expecting the Inn to be contagious and sneeze it’s floral bed covers and girly window treatments over here or what, but I thought inside the cabin might be different. Glad I was wrong.

The quilt was beige and the only coverings on the windows were shades. Was that a leak in the roof? And shit, it was the end of June and there was no air conditioning in here? Guess John wasn’t yanking my dick when he said the cabin was just a simple fishing cabin that had nothing to do with the Inn next door. And that’s a damn good thing because I would have gotten right back on my bike if I had printed sheets and mints on my pillows.

I wasn’t a TV guy and most likely wouldn’t watch it, but I turned it on anyway, something needed to drown out the annoying cricket calls and the damn words that always re-played in my head when it was too quiet. I hoped to all things holy I’d find sleep tonight. What the hell would I do otherwise? Sitting on the bed, I took off my motorcycle boots and flung them somewhere to the side. Tucking one hand behind my head I laid on my back. Minutes passed as I stared at the ceiling.

Now what?

It smelled. This place smelled. Not bad, just different. It took me a minute to place it; sun block and the outdoors. When Perky Pants got this cabin ready at John’s request she must have been wearing sun block, the kind that tried masking the SPF odor with cocoa butter. She must have opened the windows to air the place out too; I could detect a hint of grilled food with some wet sand mixed in. Typical beach-like scents.

When was the last time I’d been to any kind of beach, lake or otherwise? Man, my life was a clusterfuck. Diggle was right.

My friend ever so gently suggested (after I’d drunkenly punched him in the face and he returned the favor) that I go to Warren, Connecticut and just…be. He said I could keep my hands busy if I wanted, Diggle was sure his friend who owned the Inn next door would appreciate some manual labor. But other than that, I’d be forced to slow down and figure shit out.

Three years ago I’d woken up in a hospital in Germany with no memory. None. I was shown a passport they said I had on me when I was brought in. According to that my name was Oliver Queen and that’s the extent of what I know. I’ve pieced together a few other things along the way and met these uber-rich people who said they were my family but I can’t bear to be near them, I don’t know who they are so I don’t take their calls. I’m a dick. But for some strange reason I can’t begin to understand, something tells me it is safer that way.

So despite every nerve in my body twitching to do something, to go somewhere, I’m going to stay. I’m going to find my mother fucking peaceful haven, dammit.

Bring on the fucking peace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really slow with learning how to use this website, so if anyone can help me with how to get my chapters from Mac Pages on to here properly formatted I would really appreciate it. Getting this chapter and the first posted have been torture. Thanks :) This one is mostly background on Felicity.

**Felicity Smoak**

“What’s he doing, boss?”

I like to pretend I am a prestigious Inn owner - and I kind of am - but I am also its current toilet repairer, so when my friend and pseudo-employee Roy Harper snuck up on me, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I responded with a profoundly intellectual, “Huh?”

“Cabin guy, what’s he doing now?” Roy jerked his head toward the window over the toilet which happened to have a perfect view of Oliver Queen’s cabin. “You were watching him, weren’t you?”

I absolutely had been, but for some inexplicable reason I didn’t want to admit it. “Oh no, not really. I mean I can see him sitting there, but I was actually looking at the grounds. I’m thinking about maybe starting a small winery, what do you think?”

I knew Roy barely even registered my latest idea, he was still pressed to my back and eyeing my neighbor on the side-deck of John’s cabin. Roy wasn’t ignoring me, just awaiting the inevitable. Nine times out of ten I dismissed my improvement ideas within seconds, he tended not to get invested. There were two reasons for this; the first was I didn’t actually own the inn - yet, I ran it for the absentee owners who lived in Europe. The second was because… well… I have an active brain, I thought of about 3 new ideas daily and rarely if ever followed through. 

Highlighting this point, I already shifted gears. “Nah, never mind. The Hopkins Inn already features its own wine and the Connecticut Wine Trail goes right by here. It would be completely redundant.” 

Sighing, I got back to the task at hand and gave the toilet a flush. When it met with my satisfaction, I put the lid back on, my movements forcing Roy to give me a little more space in the tiny spare bathroom.

My life would be a hell of a lot easier if I had the extra revenue to hire people for these odd jobs. Last week I nearly killed a chipmunk with the ride-on mower. It wasn't as if Sanctuary was struggling for business, it was actually doing quite well. My financial woes had more to do with my master plan, the one my friends often teased me about since I was a bit anal retentive about it. I was currently running the inn with an option to buy, it’s owners had no interest in the day to day function, they’d bought it on impulse and immediately regretted it. 

I on the other hand, _desperately_ wanted it and was saving every last penny to buy it. 

I had lived in Warren as a young child and had loved this house, albeit from a bit of a distance back then. I used to sit on the public beach just down the road and stare at it for hours, imagining what it must have been like to live in it. When I was 8 and my mother was hired to clean it, I jumped at the chance to accompany her every time she went. Over the years I became just as enamored of the family that summered there as I was of the house itself. They were one of those huge, extended families whose lives were filled with controlled chaos and boisterous fun. I was lucky, they treated my mother and me like family and I used to play for hours on end with the grandkids. I loved every nook and cranny of this house. 

I secretly pretended it was mine. 

My family and I lived a much more…modest life. We were happy then, even living the way we did we were happy; unfortunately we moved when I was eleven and all of that changed. So when fate handed me the chance to be the operator of this glorious house I took it, granted it wasn’t all that glorious on the day I arrived, but I’ve managed to turn it into my dream since then. 

Three years ago when I was working at a Hedgefund in New York City and perusing The Warren Weekly online - a sentimental habit I couldn’t resist doing each Friday - I came across an article about the house I had fantasized about since I was a child. When I saw the new owners were looking for someone to oversee its renovation and ultimately run it, I waited about thirty-seconds and did what I had been dying to do anyway, I quit. Two days later I was in Warren convincing the Michelson’s a 23 year-old IT expert was exactly what they were looking for. Okay, maybe I begged and actually cried a little, but since no one else was interested in the job, they let me have it. 

For six months I oversaw every detail of the renovation. I watched the shag carpet on which I’d played Barbie dolls be replaced by beautiful dark wood floors. I looked on as old layers of wallpaper adorned with such things as roosters and liberty bells got scraped away and replaced with wainscoting and paint. As each room began to transform, I felt a mixture of pride and excitement; no matter what renovations were made in the home’s many rooms, I could still hear the echoes of the original family that lived here and their idyllic life. Those memories would always be somewhere under the surface, making this all the sweeter for me. Eventually it was ready and the time came to open Sanctuary to the public.

Now here I was, knowing it was the best decision I had ever made. I may have to scrimp and save, and I may lack luxuries like a landscaper to dodge chipmunks, but my life was exactly how I wanted it to be - almost. Every night when I went to bed I was exhausted, but I didn’t have a single regret.

“So what do we know about Cabin Guy?” Before I had time to wander too far into my inner musings or concoct another improvement idea, Roy brought me back to the present with his question.

Looking at the man in question, I answered, “I know he and I have a mutual friend in John, and I know that he is a minimalist who keeps to himself. I just wish I knew why John thought he needed to be here.”

Remembering something else I added, “Oh, and I know that he likes beer and he has good taste in it. All of his recycling has been Stella Artois bottles.”

“After three days you still haven’t talked to him?” Roy sounded shocked and I didn’t blame him. Oliver Queen may not be a guest of the inn but I was kind of known for being a bit nosy. 

I shook my head, “Nope, just waved in passing. John told me that he wants to be left alone so that’s what I've been doing. Of course John also said he thinks it’s the last thing the guy really needs. I figure I’ll do what he wants for now, but if he keeps himself shut away for too long, I’ll push the issue.”

I could feel Roy smile at my profile. He knew me well. I’d met him and our other sidekick, Sin, at a support group a town over and there was an instant connection, just like our devious little mutual therapist had hoped for. 

My friends regularly teased me, calling me the eHarmony of innkeepers. Before guests arrived, I’d learn as much as I could about them, then I’d customize their stay based on their interests. Sanctuary’s basement contained the oddest collection of diverse accent pieces and bedding selections that were stored for that purpose. I also took special care to design personalized guidebooks with suggested itineraries for each guest to receive at check-in. I believe that every guest's experience should be unique and work tirelessly to accomplish that.

Repeat business is essential to inn owners. That means I have to be observant of guests’ needs and keep meticulous records of their preferences. I catalogue any new information I learn in a computer program I designed, my IT background came in handy in that way. I knew everything from which drinks guests enjoyed, to which kayak or Jet Ski they thought was ‘lucky’ for them. When they came back for their next stay, their favorites would be waiting for them. My computer program was my holy grail.

And maybe Cabin Guy wasn’t one of my guests, but he was a friend of John’s and really should join the land of the living. “I am talking to John later tonight. I’ll see what I can find out without being too nosy.”

Turning, I couldn’t resist making Roy squirm since I knew he was probably laughing at my inability to stay out of the guy’s business. “Want me to tell John you said hi?”

Roy’s whole body twitched in discomfort, “No thanks.”

I couldn’t contain my snort, “You are so ridiculous, Roy. I have no idea why you let John intimidate you. He’s a big, six foot-four inch, overly muscled, teddy bear.”

“He is no. such. thing.”

I playfully rapped Roy on the arm. “He is just wound a little tight sometimes. And he’s very protective of me.”

I’d met John seven years ago on the night my family… died. He’d been our neighbor and I didn’t know until after he saved my life that he was a former Marine. I was lucky he was, he didn’t think twice about running into our burning house as flames licked unnaturally fast along the walls. I’m alive because of him. My Mom and sister weren’t as lucky, neither was my father but I don’t mourn him - he doesn’t deserve it.

Since then John had appointed himself my protector and occasionally he’d get a bit carried away, but it was sweet. 

He told me I was absolutely insane when I quit my job and told him my plans. Then one weekend shortly after Sanctuary opened he came to visit and fell in love with Warren too, hence his cabin next door. His construction company keeps him incredibly busy and he doesn’t come nearly enough, but when he does, it soothes his soul. 

I take pride in helping him in that way, I treat him like a guest when he’s in his cabin and make sure the much too serious man relaxes. He started his company shortly after saving my life and it quickly boomed. Now he’s building commercial real estate and takes the occasional government job rebuilding badly damaged areas in the Middle East. I have to admit I don’t like that part of his job, it seems dangerous and sometimes I think he hides things about it from me. His financial success can also be exasperating. Multiple times he’s offered to buy the inn and be my mortgage lender, but I always say no.

Since I flat-out refuse his money, John always finds other ways to help. Inevitably after he leaves a gift of some kind magically appears. He always tries to find Sin, but more often than not he has to pull Roy aside to find out what I’m saving for – because I always am. He gives Roy the money to purchase whatever it is with strict orders to wait until John is out of yelling distance before he brings it to the Inn.

The last time John left, I had mistakenly thought he’d finally given up his quest to help me financially. Then two days later a brand-new shed was delivered that was subsequently filled with all sorts of landscaping equipment, including a ride-on mower.

Despite being annoyed, I accepted the gifts. The Michelson’s are rather cheap so I always dip into my own money. I need to be sure the Inn has the best of everything, after-all, it will be mine one day. 

Thinking of John made my mind veer back to the man he’d sent here. As I pondered what may be going on in that head of his, I vaguely heard Roy say something about setting up for dinner before he exited the small bathroom.

Left to myself, I returned to openly staring.

The first time I saw Oliver Queen was the day after he arrived. He had been walking toward his bike and I stopped in my tracks. Thankfully he hadn’t seen me because I think I might have been drooling. The man was sex-on-a-stick gorgeous. It wasn’t just his shockingly blue eyes that I could easily discern from a distance, or the face and body they accompanied; it was in the total confidence he radiated.

His thickly muscled shoulders and chest met a perfectly trim waist. His walk was a juxtaposition of easy confidence and just the right amount of prowling predator. I didn’t know what to call it but based on that very primal feminine pull I felt, I knew I liked it. 

I watched as he slowly raked a hand over his spiky brown hair; his bicep flexing with the movement. His head turned from side to side as he appeared to be deciding which direction to take off in. When he made his decision he put on his sunglasses and climbed on his bike. Even that simple movement made something in me purr. After starting the bike he let it roll a bit before ultimately hunching over and taking off at an unnecessary speed.

That was when I finally closed my mouth.

He had that something that made both men and women take a second look, maybe even a third. I was willing to bet Sanctuary that he knew it too. Thankfully that cooled my ardor. Confidence was attractive, arrogance was not.

Even as I watched him now, sipping his beer on the side of the deck that faced the Inn, I couldn’t help but acknowledge how well he was put together. He was also an enigma and it was driving me nuts. He certainly did not appear the type who'd choose a town like Warren as temporary home, but that's exactly what he’d done. John said the man had no real plans. He was here for as long as he felt like staying, which made the situation even stranger.

Knowing John, he had sent the man here for a reason, but what was it? 

~*~

 

**Oliver**

She was staring at me again. I didn’t have to look at the house to know it, I could feel it. Just like I felt it the day after I got here when I went for a ride. She’d been on the far patio watching me then. Apparently it had become a habit for her because she seemed to be doing it quite often.

It’s a good thing she’s an inn owner because stealth sure as hell isn’t her strength. Nor is it a strong suit for her weird little girl side-kick who kept jumping behind objects half her size whenever I caught her watching. The kid thought she was well hidden when a 3-year-old playing hide and seek would have told her her hiding spot sucked. And what the hell kind of name was Sin? 

It was the woman, Felicity, whose focus I could literally feel right now though. As I sat on John’s deck I briefly entertained the idea of turning to face her, pinning her with a glare and calling her out, but I didn’t. I wasn’t being kind or trying to prevent her from embarrassment, I really didn’t give a crap about that. I didn’t know what to make of her yet, so I was waiting.

There was also the small matter of hypocrisy. I’d been doing the exact same thing to her the past few days, but I was better at hiding it.

What I'd learned so far was that she worked her ass off, and I’d like to personally shake the hand of whatever divine being had seen to it that was only a metaphor. Her ass was fucking spectacular and it would be a crime for it to disappear. In fact, I was relatively sure she could thank her spectacular ass for taking the edge off my anger whenever I felt her spying.

I’d heard a lot about Felicity Smoak from John, but he had surprisingly skipped over the part about her tight little body and lips made for sin. Given where she lived I had been picturing a woman in Birkenstocks whose idea of bathing was falling off her kayak every three days. I knew that made me an ass, but it was pretty far down the list of at least forty other obnoxious reasons.

Once I realized how wrong I’d been about Felicity, my stay in Warren got a lot more appealing and my priorities changed. The first of those priorities was getting my neighbor in bed, on the floor, or standing up; it really didn't matter. Then I got a closer look at her face and my seduction plans came to a screeching halt. She was beautiful, stunning really. Her short skirts and tight body may scream sex, but the sweetness in her eyes and smile said back the fuck up, I have morals.

That meant she was completely not my type.

I also decided she was at least partly Mary Sue Perky Pants and that would never do, at least not in my bed. I’d come back from my ride yesterday to find my recycling gone and a six-pack of Stella in the fridge. To my surprise, my room was also cool; a window air conditioner had been installed and turned on. I finished the partial job by sealing off the sides and bottom, but the gesture was certainly appreciated.

Then I got pissed. I didn’t want people snooping around my place.

I was about to go tell her to stay out of my shit when I remembered that she was John’s friend and trying to be nice, she probably did stuff like that for John whenever he was around too. It just made my skin crawl, I don’t like people having access to where I sleep, it isn’t safe. I want her key while I’m staying here, she can have it back when I leave. 

My outrage also seemed misplaced given my own activities. The books and movies in the cabin came from her collection, having liberated them at 3am the other morning when I let myself into the inn to poke around. There was a sign saying they were for guests to use; but her note said I could take advantage of the amenities, right? Not that I gave a shit. Add that to my list of obnoxious traits. I’d bring them back when I was done.

Sipping my beer and contemplating Sanctuary’s owner, I knew the instant she stopped watching me. I could have gone inside when I first felt her scrutiny, but I hadn’t; I let her stare. Was it out of spite? Maybe defiance? I liked the idea of ruffling her feathers a bit. She worked from sun-up to sun-down, keeping an almost inhuman pace. The woman needed to relax a little. Pity she had morals, I would have been more than happy to ease her tension.

With a sigh I stood, entering the cabin to shower before heading out. I’d found a bar about ten minutes away where I could get something to eat and hustle up a game of pool. Eventually I’d have to introduce myself to Mary Sue Peeping Tom and straighten a few things out, but not tonight. Tonight I needed relief.


End file.
